Not Understanding Palimpsests, My Granny Thought She Could Leave the Holler

BY: JENNIFER SCHOMBURG KANKE

She had the will to risefrom the shaded hollerwhere spring peepers hidin the tangles of honeysuckleto desert to its dust the roadlined with tiger liliesand the mix and match leavesof the quick growing sassafras.Look at her truckpacked up with the babiesand a used store-bought dresser,a special place for her colors and scents.Watch how she keeps her backto the outhouse her own hands dugand the shack bought and paidwith calloused hands and late nights.This will now be a summer placewhere the babies’ babies’ babieswill salt potato salad and pour redKool-Aid from large glass pitchers,a place for them to say,Weren’t we once so country,before heading home to townwhere real life traps you in aluminumsiding, concrete walkways,neighbors inhailing distance.

Jennifer Schomburg Kanke, originally from Columbus, Ohio, lives in Tallahassee, Florida, where she edits confidential government documents. Her work has appeared in Prairie Schooner, Pleiades, and Sou’Wester. She serves as a reader for Emrys.